


Bride

by violenteer



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Decide for yourself!, F/M, M/M, and for the love of god please call the police, basically it's up to you. is that waylon? is it another inmate? is it you?, so this one's a little different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 10:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13270041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violenteer/pseuds/violenteer
Summary: While you wait for your wedding day (or funeral) to arrive, Eddie works and plays. Sometimes, he plays with you.





	Bride

You watch him clothe the dead women while you’re stitched into the chair he brought to you. There isn’t much else to do in this place, and you really don’t have the freedom to get any bright ideas. Your hands twist where they’re bound together in front of you. Your posture is rigid, the side of your face still purpled and reddened, pounding to the beat of your heart. 

You’ve been here for a few hours, now. It must be a few hours. Even if you don’t have a watch or a camera or a phone, you can see the sun slowly fall from the sky. It was just glancing the heavens before, and now it sits almost in the center of the gray-blue world beyond you and him. Eddie. The Groom, the killer. The patient you had sympathy for a day ago. 

It’s not clear to you why Eddie presses canvas sacks over the heads of the people he kills. Maybe he does it because he’s afraid of what he finds. Maybe he does it because he’s just as disgusted with what he’s done as you are. It’s anyone’s guess, but your mind is too twitchy to really worry about it. 

He’s humming again. That tinny little tune that was playing on repeat at the mouth of this forgotten and foreign place. 

“Stop.” You say, your voice scraping the backs of your teeth.

When’s the last time you made yourself speak? When’s the last time you were given the opportunity? It doesn’t matter that much, you suppose. Eddie still hears you. He moves his hands away from the hidden woman on his table and stalks toward you. 

“You’re awake.” He responds, as though it’s some great shock. 

You want to say you’ve been awake the whole time, but it’s funny. The word you used, before. The strength and irritation you gathered to push it out of your mouth? That’s all the will you have, right now. 

But he still looks at you as though he expects something, so you look back. Your lips are drawn into a tight frown. 

“I thought I would have to wait until morning to see those beautiful eyes.” Eddie breathes while he stoops down to get a good look at you.

You know how you look. Your eyes are not beautiful; they’re bloodshot. You are not sleeping or drowsy or happy to see him. You have lost the feeling in your left leg and your ribs are killing you. Each individual bone feels as though it was dipped in acid. There is hysteria right underneath your tongue, but you know it is useless to scream. Eddie’s hand is moving steadily up your thigh, the one you can’t feel. 

Somehow, you twitch anyway. 

“I’m sorry. Have I kept you waiting?” There’s a smile on his face. 

He leans in, but you’re the one who kisses him first. Your wife is a distant memory in the game of survival. Your children are the afterthoughts of afterthoughts, gone before they can make it into the scope your attention. You writhe beneath the snapping restraint of coarse rope tied to so many parts of your body. 

Eddie licks into your mouth like a hungry animal. His teeth gnaw at your bottom lip, twisting and clenching until there’s blood. Someone gasps, but you don’t know who. That hand that was on your thigh pulls down the zipper of the patient uniform you were thrown into. 

It reaches beyond protective fabric and runs its cold tips along the skin of your stomach. You squirm and nod, moaning as Eddie sucks on your tongue. 

When Eddie pulls away from you, you use the break to catch your breath. His hand dips lower, now. Into the waistband of your underwear. He shudders at what he finds. The reason you’re still alive. The reason you haven’t been flayed in two. 

Those same cold fingers that were on your stomach before circle your clit, now. It’s dangerous. It’s dangerous to allow this, but if you refuse, it’s much harder to live past what you two will do together. What Eddie will do to you. 

What’s even more frightening is that he isn’t as bad at this as he should be. But then, he has a history. Eddie Gluskin has an impressive body count, and it was in the thirties before he even step foot inside of MURKOFF’s asylum. You bite your lip when you think of the other people in your place. Men and women, all tragic means to a fruitless end. 

This must be different, though, because his fingers are inside you, now, and he has to understand that this is not how you impregnate someone. You can push your head and neck forward, so you do. You hide your wrecked expression in the expanse of his chest and you breathe into the shirt he created for himself. 

Eddie works his fingers in and out in a punishing rhythm. It’s hard to reason with, after a while. You gasp and plead. What else can you do? 

“Please,” you say, voice torn and frayed. 

He laughs and leans back. Your head is now bowed in shock, but he tilts your chin up a moment later and shoves his tongue down your throat. Fucking you in two ways, now. 

“I love you so much.” He tells you between sloppy, wet kisses. “So, so much. My darling.” 

You’re getting closer to climax. It’s been a steady build, believe it or not. Eddie is scarily motivated, scarily skilled. With his other hand, he’s cupping himself through his pants. Maybe he wants the two of you to cum together. Maybe he’s trying to keep himself from cumming at all. You would ask, but he barely lets you breathe past his fire-bright attention. 

“For me.” You hear, eventually. 

His thumb starts rubbing at your clit. Like his fingers before, but so, so much better. In and out, circular pressure. The saliva on your chin from how desperate he is. It’s too much. It’s all too much. 

You seize up and cry out, your eyes pricking with overwhelmed tears. There are veins popping out in your neck and forehead. Eddie grunts and moves faster, forcefully wringing every possible shock of pleasure from you. 

It’s one of the worst things you’ve ever been through. It is. You would never ask for it, again. You hadn’t asked for it the first time. But when he pulls his fingers out and slowly zips the front of your uniform back up, you sob at the horrid loss. 

And he pulls you and the chair you’re bound to close to him. And the world hangs upside down in ludicrous, unanswerable suspense. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to bareknuckle cage fight me on [tumblr](http://waylonsparked.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
